


Every Breath You Take

by mimilop



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Breeding, Chases, Creampie, Dubious Consent, F/M, Impregnation, Kidnapping, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Reader-Insert, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, idk how to tag guys i'm just trying to add everything relevant, im so sorry god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-10 00:23:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16459913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimilop/pseuds/mimilop
Summary: (Y/N) is a sweet young girl who's sent to Smith's Grove Sanitarium to shadow a well respected psychiatrist, Dr. Loomis, in order to gain experience for her bachelor's degree. She's able to understand every patient except for a peculiar man named Michael, so she prods the doctor for more information. Upon hearing of his questionable childhood, she sympathizes with the boy and makes it her goal to befriend him. Unbeknownst to her, these efforts ignite a deep need that he didn't imagine he'd ever feel: the desire for a loving family.





	1. Creep

**Author's Note:**

> a friend of mine desperately wanted a smutty fic about sweet, girly reader x michael myers... and i just couldn't resist giving her a halloween treat ;~) i'm gonna try to finish it by the end of today, the 30th !  
> my mom's obsessed with halloween and watches it every single october. so... sorry mom... and god...
> 
> p.s. i moved the setting to ambiguously modern bc im dumb and forgot laptops and social media didn't exist in the 70s, so you can make it happen whenever you want! and ((MINOR SPOILERS FOR ACTUAL MOVIES)) i think the whole cult situation as a reason for him killing is dumb so in my universe michael kills + lacks empathy because he was abused by judith (and maybe his parents idk but primarily her) when he was young.

As you stand shivering outside the gloomy facility, your heart flutters anxiously. The monotonous patter of rain does little to soothe your nerves, especially as chilly drops hit your body relentlessly, still uncomfortable despite being a light shower. It's only been a few minutes since you exited your cute Buggy (the nickname you gave to your car, a 1960 Beetle that you baby just as much as any pet), but it feels like years of nervous thoughts and wringing hands have passed.  
  
You are about to enter Smith's Grove Sanitarium to shadow a psychiatrist, and while you won't be doing anything except following him around, you still feel anxious. A light fog’s begun to creep around the parking lot, and combined with the facility's stark appearance makes a surprisingly creepy mood. For a reason you can’t place, your stomach twists in nervous anticipation. Shaking your head, you chalk it up to being your first time shadowing, mixed in with the ever present social anxiety you were blessed with as a child. Feeling moisture fall from your locks, you take a deep breath and march forward.  
  
Gently opening the glass door, you walk through a small passage and enter the lobby, stopping once you see an older man donning glasses and a white coat.  
  
"Hello there. My name is (Y/N), and I'm going to be shadowing a psychiatrist today. Do you know where I might find Dr. Loomis?"  
  
The man looks up from his clipboard and smiles warmly, holding out a hand to you.  
  
"Ah, yes! That would actually be me. It's great to meet you (Y/N)."  
  
Eyes widening, you quickly shake his hand and rub your arm sheepishly.  
  
"Oh! I'm sorry for not recognizing you. It's wonderful to meet you as well."  
  
With a wave of his hand, he turns and begins walking towards a door to the right. You remain standing for a second before stumbling into action, walking briskly to catch up and follow close behind.  
  
"No need to apologize, Miss (Y/N)." He pauses as he opens the door, gesturing for you to go through first. You oblige, mumbling a soft "thank you" before stepping aside so he can take the lead once more. Instead of continuing on, he looks at you sincerely.  
  
"I myself apologize for jumping into action so soon. We have a few patients to visit before lunch, but I'll be sure and give you a proper tour of the facility right after we eat."  
  
Before you get the chance to respond, he's walking again, and you follow with a bit of exasperation.  
  
"Don't worry about that, Dr. Loomis, I don't mind at all! I'm excited for the tour, but the patients are really what I'm here for." You say, noticing a slight waver in your voice as you try to match his quick pace.  
  
He chuckles quietly, and when he speaks you can hear the smile in his voice.  
  
"So I've heard. You're going to be a therapist, correct? Your instructor told me you're quite gifted in empathy and have a calming presence. That'll do well for the patients here."  
  
A blush blooms across your face and you bring a hand to your cheek, feeling warmth as you nuzzle bashfully into your palm.  
  
"O-oh... Well, I don't know about that, but I do try my best to be understanding," You reply, heart fluttering at your instructor's praise.  
  
The doctor hums in acknowledgement, and after a few more steps, stops in front of a door. You stop as well, clasping your hands against your belly.  
  
"This is our first patient. I'm sure you've been prefaced already, but let me go over rules just in case. I'll ask you to introduce yourself, but besides that, please refrain from interacting with the patient and simply observe. If a patient becomes agitated, I'll escort you out and take the proper course of action. I doubt we'll have any incidents, but I want you to feel safe. Do you have any questions?" He explains, looking to you expectantly.  
  
It's true, you had been told the rules of shadowing beforehand, but you didn't mind a little reminder. It helped to calm the little nerves still simmering in your chest.  
  
"No sir, I'm all set to go."  
  
With a grin, he knocks and then opens the door.  
  
✼⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊱•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅✼  
  
After a couple of hours, you're following Dr. Loomis to the last patient scheduled before lunch. Your nerves have all pretty much settled down: everything's gone really well! The first patient was an adorable little boy who, to the doctor's dismay, was much more interested in the "nice lady" than in questions about feelings and medication. He cleverly bargained with Dr. Loomis by promising to answer questions once you read him a story, and you internally squee as you remember how happy he was once the doctor (begrudgingly) accepted. The second patient was a quiet young girl, about 13-14, with long black hair and even blacker eyeliner. She wasn't nearly as interested in you as the little boy, but you still caught her staring a couple of times, causing her to blush and look away.  
  
You’re pulled from your thoughts when you realize you've been walking for quite some time, at least in comparison to the other two rooms. As you go deeper into the building, it becomes less and less populated, causing an eerie quiet that's only broken by the hollow click of your heels. As you finally near a door, your eyes widen at the sight of two guards standing at either side. Faintly you hear the doctor greet them before reaching into his coat, fishing a bit and eventually pulling out a key. He unlocks the door and hold it open for you, revealing a small corridor with a couple doors and four more guards. Dread begins to creep up your spine as you wonder why there's so much security around this third patient. Dr. Loomis stops in front of the door and turns to you, expression serious.  
  
"Alright, (Y/N), this is our last patient before lunch," He sighs a bit before continuing. "Listen... This one is not exactly like the others you've met today. He's been here since he was 6 years old and he hasn't spoken once. We've really tried to get through to him, but he just isn't responsive. However... He's very dangerous. So, while I doubt anything will happen, I just want you to be aware and err on the side of caution."  
  
Pausing, he watches your face as you digest what he's told you. _Dangerous...? I guess I figured, since there are so many guards, but still..._ Many thoughts whirl in your head as you process everything, but after a few moments you take a deep breath and put them on pause. You need to be calm and treat this patient no different than the others.  
  
"Okay. Thank you for telling me Dr. Loomis," You reply with a nod.  
  
He gives you a reassuring smile before knocking, pausing a second and then gingerly opening the door. Mimicking his gentle approach, you follow lightly into the room, and immediately your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a soft gasp as you take in your surroundings. While the other patients had things like drawings and books decorating their rooms, this patient has masks _everywhere_. They line the walls, a few rest on the desk and bed, and some are even strewn about the floor. Luckily neither doctor nor patient seem to hear the noise, and you quickly clasp your hands together as Dr. Loomis pulls up a chair for you. Dipping your head in thanks, you sit and take out your supplies, opening your notebook to a fresh page.  
  
Now that you're settled, you finally take a moment to actually look at the patient. You're surprised to see that he, too, dons a mask, though you probably should have expected that with how interested in them he seems to be. Because of this, it's tough to make out any features, but you can see light brown hair peeking out against his neck, and judging by the unsettling blackness of the mask's eye holes, he has dark eyes.  
  
After he pulls his clipboard out, Dr. Loomis quietly clears his throat, and you click the end of your mechanical pencil in preparation.  
  
"Good afternoon, Michael. I hope you’ve been doing well. This is a student who's going to be following me around for the week," He says, gesturing to you and giving a nod.  
  
The patient has yet to look up, but you take your cue anyways. Smiling warmly, you wave.  
  
"Hi there! It's wonderful to meet you, Michael. Don't mind me too much, I'll just be here in the background," You chirp gently.  
  
Suddenly, the patient's chin jerks up slightly, and while you can't see his eyes, you can feel them meet your own. You wave once more, smiling even wider and tilting your head in an effort to be as friendly as possible. He simply watches, an uneasiness settling in your belly as you feel like he's staring right into your soul. Uncomfortable, you look down and pretend to start writing. Dr. Loomis seems caught off guard by Michael’s movement, taking a few moments to begin speaking again, but he continues normally once recovered.  
  
You try your best to listen and write notes, but the feeling of being stared down never ceases. It's incredibly off-putting, and the doctor's previous warnings echo threateningly in your mind. Michael is dangerous, and for some reason, he's extremely fixated on you right now. Your companion continues to ask questions, giving ample pauses for Michael to speak, but he doesn't. He stays silent the entire session, opting to burn holes into the top of your head instead of answering.  
  
As you finish writing your last words, Dr. Loomis claps gently and rubs his hands together.  
  
"Well, Michael, that's about all the time we have. I'm glad I got to speak with you today. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"  
  
You put your things away as he stands, gesturing for you to move as well. Once you do, he returns the chair to its rightful place and walks towards the door. You follow him into the hallway, feeling eyes glued to your back until Michael’s door is out of sight.


	2. A Dream Among Sharks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll finish it by the 30th i said... it'll be easy i said... eep! well, hopefully my darling friend and whoever else reads this doesn't mind if i finish it by the end of halloween or the day after! that'll still at least be around the time of halloween so i can keep with the theme :'^3 on the bright side, we get into the wilder stuff next chapter! so that'll be fun! ;^0  
> here's the song that's in the chapter for anyone who wants to listen! i highly recommend it!! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L1HctfS-H0M

As you walk behind Dr. Loomis, you can’t help the curiosity bubbling up despite how unsettling your first encounter with Michael was. Step-hopping a bit to get closer, you decide to ask him about it.

“Um… Dr. Loomis?”

“Yes, (Y/N)?”

“I know there are lots of things you can’t say because of confidentiality, but… Could you maybe tell me more about Michael?” You question nervously, following as he turns the corner to the lobby.

The doctor glances down at you with wide eyes.

“You mean don’t know? Oh, that’s right, you’re from out of town. Well, I’m afraid there’s no confidentiality in Michael’s story. It’s been plastered all over the news,” He responds, leading you towards a large cafeteria enclosed in glass walls.

“When he was just a boy, he murdered his older sister while their parents were out. It was on Halloween night, which of course made it an even greater media spectacle. The police found evidence of abuse in their investigation, but regardless, he’s showed no remorse or emotion ever since.”

A chill creeps across your back as your blood runs cold. _M… Murdered?!_ You can’t help your mouth from hanging open, and Dr. Loomis gives you a sympathetic look.

“I understand that it’s shocking.” He leans closer to you, voice dropping low. “Ever since he got here, I’ve really tried to get through to him. I feel in my gut that there’s a potential for getting better, but nothing we’ve tried seems to work. However, today he did move slightly, and even looked at you. That’s never happened before! So perhaps having you around will help him come out of his shell,” He concludes with a warm smile.

You do your best to match his grin, but the unsettling anxiety gnawing at your belly makes you waver. If he notices, the doctor doesn’t say anything, guiding you silently through the cafeteria doors. Eyes widening in awe, you look around at the many tables and lines, not expecting the room to be even bigger on the inside. Suddenly, your belly growls embarrassingly loud, and Dr. Loomis laughs before ushering you towards the shortest line.

“Let’s get some lunch, shall we?”

✼⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊱•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅✼

By the time you leave Smith's Grove, your feet ache and your head isn’t faring much better. Despite the startling news about Michael, you did your best to keep up with Dr. Loomis and take good notes on everything. It was difficult not to think about how a _murderer_ who’s never so much as looked at anyone else before had stared you down relentlessly on your first meeting, but you needed to focus. This was for your education, after all.

You walk up to Buggy and smile with a pleasant sigh, patting its roof affectionately before clicking your key and sliding into the front seat. Starting up the engine, you begin the drive home.  
Smith’s Grove is pretty far out of town, so you dreaded this drive a bit, but you have to admit that it’s very beautiful. You hum lightly along to the radio and gaze out the windshield, the setting sun glimmering through the lush trees to your left. As fields of corn and wildflowers roll by in flashes of warm colour, the current song fades out, and one of your favourites begins to play! With hushed excitement, you grin and sign softly along, the flowing guitar chords complimenting your surroundings perfectly.

“ _The streets are all violent_  
_With murderous excitement_  
_The hunter and the prey  
_ _Are dancing everyday…”_

Bopping your head to the beat, you continue to sing, continuing even after the song ends. Several more pass, and soon you’re nearing your little home on the edge of Haddonfield, Illinois. It’s a temporary move for college, but you do like the town’s atmosphere, enjoying how friendly the locals are. _Maybe it’s the small town mindset that makes them so welcoming_ you think as you pull into the driveway, Buggy shutting off with a purr.

The house you’re renting is a pale blue one-story with a neat white fence and plenty of plants. It looks almost like a cottage, with a pale roof whose shingles resemble lace, and despite its small stature, you find it very cozy. You gather your things and get out of the car, smiling as you walk up the granite path and porch steps.

Fishing in your purse, it takes a minute to find your keys, but once you do you quickly open the door and toss your bags unceremoniously onto the couch.

“Honey, I’m home!” You call, letting your cat, whose name is actually Honey, know that you’re back. Despite saying it every time you return home, you never get tired of that joke.

After locking the door, you kick off your heels and speed-walk to your room, eager to get into something big and comfy. You change into your softest pair of pajamas, grab your laptop and return to the living room, making sure to take a few snacks from the kitchen before plopping down on the couch.

“Hmmm… Should I watch TV or YouTube…? Or maybe browse (social media) for a while…” You mumble, debating how you want to spend these precious hours before going to bed.

Suddenly, the cushion next to you dips and you feel a weight pressing against your side.

“Mrow!”

Grinning brightly, you pet Honey as she climbs into your lap, rubbing against your hand and welcoming you with lots of meows.

“Awww, I missed you too angel. Don’t worry, I’ll make up for all the lost pets!”

She stretches towards your hand before curling up, purring softly and rustling the strings of your pajama bottom with her breath. As you continue to pet her, you realize you’d need to move to use your laptop or phone, and not wanting to disturb your comfy baby, you decide to watch TV. Reaching as little as possible to the coffee table, you grab the remote and flip it on, the TV flickering to life on a movie channel. The scene it shows is action-packed, and you decide to watch as several teenagers scream and run across the screen. You briefly wonder what’s going on before the scene shifts to show a man in the distance, donning a hilariously ugly mask and wielding a hatchet as he chases them down.

Giggling a bit, you consider watching the rest before going stiff: _mask… murderer…_ With a shiver you flip the channel to Animal Planet, and to your delight, they’re showing a documentary about puppies! _This will definitely help me relax!_ You think excitedly, doing your best to ignore the unease in your gut.

The documentary goes on for some time, showing many adorable scenes of puppies playing and sleeping, but despite your best efforts, you just can’t focus. Your mind won’t let go of that feeling: eyes that are hollow and unrelenting, staring you down with an intensity that makes you feel like you’re under a microscope. With a heavy sigh, you mute the TV and let your head fall back, resting against the couch as you close your eyes.

 _So… Michael killed his sister when he was little. Maybe I just need time to digest that… Oh, but… What was it that Dr. Loomis said? Police found he was being abused…?_ You hum in thought and mindlessly pet Honey. _Well… It’s certainly not a normal reaction to abuse… But thinking about his behaviour, he’s probably mentally ill. Nothing justifies murder… And it’s a hard mistake to forgive… but he’s already been put away, so he’s not nearly as much of a danger to anyone anymore…_

Groaning, you rub your face and dread the direction your thoughts are going. You know yourself too well, and you can already feel the unease succumbing to pity. _I can’t believe you, (Y/N). He killed someone, for God’s sake! I am not going to turn into one of those killer fangirls!_ Turning your head, your face scrunches in displeasure as you fight between revulsion and sympathy.  
  
……  
  
_But…_  
_He was young, and being abused… He’s not a danger anymore, and surely being restricted and kept under constant surveillance for his entire life is punishment enough… So, why shouldn’t he be treated with kindness? Dr. Loomis said he believes Michael can get better… I know they’ve tried a lot of things, but… He reacted to me earlier. I don’t really know if that’s good or bad, but… Hopefully it’s good? It probably is! So…_

Opening your eyes, you look down at Honey, who’s now sleeping soundly in your lap. With a smile and newfound determination lighting your heart, you carefully move her to the side and walk towards the bathroom to get ready for bed.

_I’ll do what I can to help Michael._

✼⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊱•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅✼

The weather is clear as you pull up to Smith’s Grove, clouds strolling lazily through the bright blue sky. Parking Buggy, you step out into the warm air and admire the lovely weather as you trot towards the glass doors. With a gentle grip, you pull them open and walk in, finding Dr. Loomis waiting for you again. He grins as you approach him with a wave.

“Good morning Dr. Loomis!” You greet, bouncing a bit on your heels.

“Good morning to you as well, (Y/N). You seem quite chipper today,” He replies, an amused glint in his eyes as he begins to lead you towards the patient wing.

You blush faintly at his observation, but it’s true: you feel great! With a laugh, you rub your arm and nod.

“Yeah. I guess I’m just excited to talk with the patients today!” You pause before realizing your mistake. “Oh! I mean- to listen to you talk with the patients. Hehe...”

The doctor quirks a curious eyebrow, but doesn’t ask any questions. After a few minutes of walking, the first patient’s room comes into view, and you follow your companion past the door.  
Things go well with the first two patients. Nothing much different happens, but you take diligent notes and observe both Dr. Loomis’ and the patients’ behaviour. The little boy, Chris, puts up less resistance than yesterday, seemingly content with your presence alone, and the young lady, Amanda, seems a bit quieter than yesterday, but overall fine.

After saying goodbye, you follow the doctor as he exits Amanda’s room and begins heading down the long path to what you now know is the maximum security wing. The emptiness and dreary fluorescent lights still make for a creepy atmosphere, but you do your best to ignore it and push the memory of yesterday’s session away. _Today will be different!_ you reassure yourself, knowing that you’re prepared for Michael’s odd behaviour and even plan to welcome it. Still, it’s difficult to not be put off by the number of guards surrounding you.

As you near the door, Dr. Loomis pauses and turns to you.

“Ready?” He asks.

Taking a breath, you relax your shoulders and smile up at him.

“Ready!”

He nods and takes out his keys, knocking lightly before opening the door.

As soon as you enter the room, you feel those eyes on you again. Glancing to Michael, you see that he’s facing forward today, allowing you to view the entirety of his mask. You admit that it’s pretty uncomfortable to look at, and the sight of so many masks everywhere is still eerie. But as you look around, you note that they appear to be handmade, and smile at the thought of him carefully crafting each one. You hope it makes him happy.

Grabbing the same chair from yesterday, you move it closer to Dr. Loomis’s so you can get a better view of him and Michael. Once you get your supplies out, you dare to look up and meet his relentless gaze. With a small wave you beam at him, and although he doesn’t react, you don’t feel as disturbed as yesterday. Sure, his stare is still a bit unnerving, but… You feel as if you’re getting used to it.

“Hello, Michael. I hope you’ve had a nice morning.” The doctor greets, settling into his own seat.

And with that, he begins the same routine as before. His questions are different, but relatively similar, and Michael still does not talk or react. Because of this, there’s not much to write down, and you find yourself at a loss of what to do… Until you remember that thus far, you haven’t really looked at Michael that much. You’ve been too uncomfortable, afraid of meeting his intense eyes, but you’re feeling braver today. So, you decide to give him a proper look.

Slowly raising your gaze, you give him what you hope is a subtle once-over, noting first how absolutely _massive_ he is. It’s amazing you managed to miss it: he must be well over 6 feet! Besides that, you spot a bit of scruff growing down his neck, and notice how his hands are proportionately huge. With the mask on, it’s tough to make out anything else.

Speaking of which… Why does he wear a mask anyways? What’s his fascination with them, the reason why he makes so many? You wish you could find out somehow, eyeing the many masks hung about curiously. There aren’t many decorations besides them, just the bare-bones provided by Smith’s Grove.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a sudden gasp from the doctor, snapping your head to see what happened. Surprisingly, both he and Michael are in the exact same position as you saw them last, the only difference being Dr. Loomis’s shocked expression. He blinks a few times before fumbling to regain composure, and you tilt your head in confusion. What happened? _I guess I should have been listening…_ you think sheepishly.

“W-well, that’s great! Alright then, let me go get a nurse to help you.” The doctor says, causing you even _more_ muddlement. Who is he speaking to? Michael hasn’t talked yet, so who…?  
Swiftly he jolts to a stand and grabs his bag, leaving you dumbfounded for a moment before scrambling to gather your things as well. He’s already headed for the door once you do, so you shoot up and chase his retreating form, stumbling a bit in your efforts to match his quick pace.

Before you get too far, however, you hear a clatter and something seizes your arm with an iron grip. With a squeal, you falter and turn around, coming face to face with the the white latex of Michael’s mask. Fear shoots through your veins and you feel your heart plummet into your belly. Towering over you, his acute stare pins you to your spot like a butterfly in a glass case, boring into your soul and making you quiver. He doesn’t let go of your arm, and chills begin to creep up your spine as time seems to stop.

“Hey! What the Hell’s going on in there?!”

Your eyes widen at the sound of a shout, presumably a guard, but you can’t look away, completely frozen with terror.

“Whoa, whoa! Gentlemen, please, hold on! There’s no need for security yet!” The doctor says, apparently trying to keep the guards out of the room. _No need for security?! A murderer just grabbed my arm!_

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Dr. Loomis approach and stop next to you, looking at Michael earnestly.

“What is it, Michael? Why did you grab (Y/N)?” He asks.

For whatever reason, this prompts the large man let go of your arm. The second he does you protectively bring it to your chest, rubbing the spot he grasped tenderly. For a moment, you see movement in Michael's neck, but it’s gone as soon as it came, and you wonder briefly if you imagined it due to the adrenaline.

“Hmm… What could it be…” The doctor mumbles, scratching his chin. He appears lost in thought for a few minutes before brightening and looking eagerly to Michael.

“Oh! Do you want (Y/N) to do it?”

Your gaze flickers between the two men, desperately trying to figure out what the heck is going on. _Want me to do what??_ Before you can ask, Michael gives a tiny, curt nod, so quick you would have missed it had you blinked. Despite being grabbed by him, you’re still surprised by the gesture, eyes widening as you recall how stiff he’s been previously. Dr. Loomis, on the other hand, is elated, clapping happily and turning towards you.

“Wow! Fantastic! (Y/N), is that okay with you?”

His eyes are glittering with excitement, and you debate whether or not you should expose your daydreaming. After a moment of thought, you decide your pride is not worth the risk of agreeing to an unknown task.

“Um… I think I may have missed what you last said to Michael, Dr. Loomis. What is it he wants me to do?” You question, an embarrassed blush blooming across your cheeks.

“I asked him if he’d like to shave, and he nodded! So I went to get a nurse, but apparently he’d like you to do it instead! So what do you say (Y/N)?” He explains, seemingly unperturbed by your confusion.

Blush deepening, you stare owlishly at the doctor, unsure of what to say. _He wants me… to shave him…?_ It’s a bit strange, but you’re relieved to hear that it’s something so benign. A small pause fills the room as you try to gather your thoughts.

“Uh… I mean- sure?” You reply, immediately regretting how lame you sound.

Your companion doesn’t care in the slightest, however, smiling wider at your approval.

“Wonderful! Let’s go get the proper supplies, then. We’ll be right back Michael!” He exclaims, already moving towards the door.

You follow a bit hesitantly, still shaken up from the grabbing incident, as he exits the room and hurries through the corridor, stopping once he reaches a thin room on the opposite side of the hall. Unlocking the door, he glances back at you before beginning to search through the shelves.

“This is a supply closet. We keep things like cosmetics and toiletries in them, among other things. Can you believe this (Y/N)? The entire time he’s been here, he hasn’t nodded once. Not once! Much less touched somebody! And before now, we've had to sedate him for every shave. It’s incredible! Your instructor was right, you really do have an effect on patients,” He rambles as he gathers the supplies into a bucket.

Many thoughts swirl in your head, and you do indeed have trouble believing the situation. Why did Michael start behaving differently once you showed up? It’s as if he’s never interacted with a woman before, or someone with (colour) hair, or someone named (Y/N). Something that’s different about you than every other person he’s met. _No, no… I need to stop overthinking everything. Yeah, it’s weird, but it’s a good thing! This is exactly what I hoped for! (I think…)_ Softly shaking your head, a trembly smile spreads across your lips.

“It’s… Unexpected, definitely. But I’m glad I can help you help Michael!” You finally respond, watching as the doctor checks over what he’s collected.

Once finished, he hands the bucket to you and closes the door, fumbling to lock it before speeding off towards Michael’s room. Not bothering to catch up with him this time, you follow and find him waiting once you reach the room. He gives a rushed knock before opening the door, ushering you in and taking the bucket from your arms. Unsure of what to do, you stand awkwardly and observe as Dr. Loomis takes everything out, moving to the sink in the corner of the room and filling the bucket with water. While he continues setting up, you look around and find that Michael’s back to sitting, once again staring unabashedly. _Geez… Somebody definitely skipped Cotillion…_ Luckily, the doctor finishes getting everything in place after a few minutes.

“There! Everything’s all set, (Y/N). I’ll be at the desk if you need anything,” He says, briskly wiping his hands against his coat before rushing towards the little desk by Michael’s bed. As soon as he sits, he takes out his clipboard and begins writing furiously.

A tumid moment hangs uncomfortably in the air as you hesitate, feeling on edge as Michael stares. Dr. Loomis’s presence should comfort you, but... the gaze burning into your own shrouds the rest of the room in darkness, demanding your attention and making it feel as if you’re the only two people in the world. After a few minutes of cold silence, you take a deep breath and decide to inch towards Michael, the threat of sudden movement echoing in your mind. Slowly making your way over, you inspect everything Dr. Loomis laid out on the extra chair: a razor, washcloth, shaving cream, and the bucket of water. When you finally reach his side, you reach tentatively for the shaving cream, beginning to untwist the cap when you pause: what about his mask? Glancing over, you find that yes, he still has it on. You worry your lip as you think about the best course of action. With any normal person, you could simply take the mask off, no worries. But Michael is not a normal person, and has shown that he’s quite capable of stopping you from doing anything he doesn’t want, with possibly dire consequences. Because of this, you decide it would be best to ask, even if you might not get an answer.

“Um… May I take off your mask?”

You timidly meet his intense gaze, regretting it instantly as you shrink under the invisible pressure. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t say anything, opting instead to sit and stare. A tense few minutes that feel more like hours pass by, and you anxiously begin to debate the risks of taking his mask without explicit consent when he interrupts your thoughts with a small, sharp nod. Relief washes over as you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, extremely glad he decided to answer. Even so, just the thought of touching the thing sends a shiver down your back.

Placing the shaving cream down, you turn towards Michael and avoid eye contact, watching carefully as you slowly reach for the edge of his mask. Years seem to pass, and your body is rigid when your fingers meet icy latex, breath hitching as you brush over the rough stubble peeking from underneath. Eyes flashing up, you make sure he hasn’t moved before continuing, grasping the mask with a feather light hold. Cold sweat beads on the back of your neck, unease whirling in your belly as you hesitate. You are _so_ scared he’s going to change his mind and grab you again, or do something worse. Briefly you consider retracting and scurrying out of the facility, driving away and burying yourself in blankets for the rest of your life, but a whispery sigh escapes your nose as you remind yourself that’s not possible. _You can do this, (Y/N). You’ve gotten this far, and there are guards everywhere. Plus, he’s just a human being. He may have… killed someone… But he’s still a person just like you. Okay… I can do this! 1… 2… 3…_

At a snail’s pace, you drag the mask over his skin, eyes glued to his face in caution and curiosity. For a moment you wonder if he’ll stop you once you reach his nose, but he doesn’t, allowing you to pull gently until the mask is entirely off, sagging in your grip.

_Oh._

You feel your breath quicken and the hair on your arms raise. His gaze is much more intense this way, large, dark eyes boring into your own and making your skin prickle. It’s difficult to move your focus, something in his stare pulling fiercely at you, but you manage to tear your eyes away, wanting to study his face in such a rare moment. Ignoring the little chill travelling down your neck, you examine his features. His hair is ruffled and dirty blond, falling against his neck in mostly straight strands, with a few wavy locks framing his face. For somebody with such a frightening aura, his chin is surprisingly round, giving him a youthful appearance that’s betrayed by the darkness around his eyes. You think that his lips, while chapped and pulled into a taut line, are a nice shade of pink, before chastising yourself and quickly moving on. As your eyes travel upwards, you notice something unusual. The faintest of red is dusted across his cheeks, so light that you could have easily missed it, but unmistakably flushed. _Is he… nervous…?_ Eyes widening, you’re surprised he’s feeling such a way. It’s so… Human. The corner of your lip twitches as you feel almost endeared.

“Um…” The sound of your own voice startles you a bit, pulling you out of your head and disturbing the frigid silence. “Don’t worry. I think you’re very handsome.”

Heat rushes to your face as you attempt a smile, but you feel like a complete fool immediately after the words leave your mouth. _Telling a patient he’s handsome? Seriously (Y/N)?_ You simply wanted to ease his worries, but in hindsight, it was not the greatest idea, and you’ve embarrassed yourself because of it. Quickly turning away, you grab the shaving cream once more, willing your heart to calm down as you untwist the cap. Unbeknownst to you, Michael’s flush deepens as well.

The sacred moment shattered, you begin to shave the large man gingerly but as swiftly as possible, self-consciousness making you want to leave as soon as possible. Unfortunately, you need to lean close and touch his face a lot to complete your task, causing you to feel 10 times more awkward as his breath tickles your face. Finally, after what seems like hours of heated agony, you gently drag the razor down the last strip of scruff, pivoting to cleanse the blade in your bowl of water. Once finished, you take the washcloth and pat him dry, noting proudly that you made a very clean shave. With a small smile, you move to put the washcloth down and spot his mask poking out from behind the bowl. _Oh yeah… I forgot about that._

You replace the cloth in your grip with the mask, gaze flitting between it and Michael for a moment before holding it out to him.

“I’m all done, so… Here you go.”

Quiet fills the room once more as you wait for him to take it, but he never does. Not moving a muscle, he continues staring at you like he's been this entire time. After a dull few moments, your cheeks flush in realization. He wants you to put it back on. Michael must notice your embarrassment, because for an instant, you see a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. It’s gone as quick as it came, but you huff in retaliation nevertheless, puffing out your cheeks as you carefully pull the mask over his face.

“There.”

You stand dumbly for a bit, not knowing what to do before remembering that you’re in a sanitarium for school and are supposed to be shadowing Dr. Loomis. Looking over to the desk, you see that he’s still writing, but seems to have calmed down significantly, his previously frantic pace slowed to a normal one. With a hand against your mouth, you quietly clear your throat and rock back on your heels.

“Um! Dr. Loomis? I’ve finished shaving Michael.”

To your dismay, he seems to be too enraptured in his notes to hear you, so you walk over to him, footsteps clicking through the silence. Not wanting to startle him, you slowly reach out and place your hand on his shoulder.

“Dr. Loomis?”

This successfully grabs his attention, and he jumps a bit before turning to you and chuckling sheepishly.

“Oh, (Y/N)! Are you all done? Sorry about that, I was so into writing that I completely tuned everything out!” He laughs, standing up and gathering his supplies.

You move to the side and wait for him to give you directions, but he walks towards the door instead.

“Dr. Loomis? Shouldn’t we clean this up?” You ask, eyebrows knitting in concern.

“Don’t worry about it, Miss (Y/N). I’ll call a janitor to take care of that.” He responds, opening the door and holding it in place.

After a final glance at Michael, you hurry towards the door and walk out, thanking the doctor as you pass. You hear him say goodbye before ushering you in the direction of the cafeteria, muttering something about a well-deserved meal before calling a janitor to clear out Michael's room.


	3. Heart Shaped Box

(October 29, 2xxx)

The sound of heels clicking echoes throughout the empty corridor, fluorescent lights flickering wearily as you travel down the corridor. The quietness of this wing used to put you off, but you’ve walked this path so many times that it feels familiar and strangely warm.

The week you shadowed Dr. Loomis, Michael made sudden progress and grew very attached to you, so you’ve returned to Smith’s Grove at least once a week at the doctor’s request. (All he said was “whenever you have time”, but you’ve grown rather affectionate towards Michael too. How could you not? The way he hangs onto your every movement and word like a lost puppy makes you feel special, especially when he won’t even _move_ for other people. So it’s been once a week ever since, sometimes more.)

You smile brightly as you approach the two guards watching the main entrance.

“Hello Mr. Gonzalez! Hello Ms. Hewlett!” You greet with a small wave, stopping a few feet from the door.

Both guards return your grin twofold, Ms. Hewlett playfully bringing a hand to her hip.

“Hey, (Y/N). Didn’t we tell you to call us by our first names?” She teases.

Blushing sheepishly, you turn to your purse and begin to fish in your bag for your keys, hiding slightly behind your hair.

“I know, I know… I just respect you guys so much! Your job takes a lot of courage, and I imagine it gets pretty tough!”

Mr. Gonzalez chuckles fondly as you feel cool metal and take the keys out of your purse, adjusting its straps before clasping your hands together.

“It does, but it’s gotten a lot better since you came along. This fella used to be our biggest problem, always lashing out at Loomis or the nurses. But you’ve managed to calm him down quite a bit!” He replies, looking down at you with mirth in his eyes.

Dipping your chin in embarrassment, you smile wider despite the heat blooming on your face. You walk forward and unlock the door, pushing it open before turning to face the guards once more.

“Aw, shucks. I’m just glad I can help make you guys’ lives a little easier. Anyways, I’ve got to run, but I’ll see you later! Have a great day!” You chirp, waving goodbye before strolling into the smaller hallway.

You hurriedly greet the rest of the guards before walking up to Michael’s door, knocking in your special way so he’ll know it’s you.

_Knock, knock, thump, knock… Thump thump!_

Pausing a moment for Michael to remove his mask, you busy yourself with smoothing a few rogue strands of hair before opening the door. As expected, the large man is sitting in his chair, attention snapping towards you the second you enter the room. His eyes are as intense as ever, but you got used to that a long time ago. With a sparkling smile, you hurry to grab the extra chair and pull it in front of him, bringing your bag to your chest and sitting.

“Hi there, Mikey! How are you doing today? Are you excited that it’s almost Halloween?” As you speak, you open your purse and reach inside, digging around a bit before grabbing a neatly wrapped package. You don’t take it out just yet, though, looking up at Michael instead.

Despite the fact that Michael is mute, you always talk to him for the entirety of your visits, which manages to get you a few nods every now and then. Biting back a giggle, you tap your toes excitedly and the man’s head tilts in curiosity.

“I’m really excited for Halloween. I’m going to be dressing up as (costume)! But that’s besides the point. Basically… I was feeling super into the Halloween spirit yesterday, and, well…” You gingerly pull the package from your purse, making sure it’s presentable before holding it out to your companion. “I made you a little something so we could both celebrate!”

Michael eyes the gift before slowly reaching towards you and taking it. Bringing it to his lap, he inspects the purple and orange paper before tearing it apart, revealing a thin cardboard box. You lean forward in anticipation, fingers drumming against your thighs as you hope he likes it. Gingerly he removes the top of the box and scoops your present out, holding it close to his face as he studies it: a black masquerade mask with plenty of orange, purple and red glitter, a bit of lace lining the edges, and a few ghosts delicately painted on for good measure.

“I hope you like it! I know I just made you one for your birthday, but… I just love Halloween so much, and I wanted to share that with you!” You chime, watching Michael eagerly.

Gradually raising his chin, he simply stares at you again, but the corner of his lip twitches up slightly, signalling his approval. With a delighted squeak, you clap your hands and beam.

“I’m so glad you like it, Mikey! Ooh- Would you like to try it on?” You ask, eyes glittering.

For a moment, a hint of fond exasperation fills his gaze, but it quickly returns to neutral and he gives you a small nod. Giggling, you put your bag down and walk over to him, taking the mask from his hands and blushing slightly when your hands brush his own.  
“Sorry Mikey, I just really want to know how it looks on you! I won’t make you wear it for long, don’t worry.”

You place the mask on Michael’s face, gently pulling the elastic to the back of his head so it’ll stay put. After you finish, you take a few steps back to see, quickly covering your mouth to muffle your happy squeal. He looks _so adorable!_ The cut fits his face shape perfectly, framing his eyes in a way that’s both cute and alluring. You allow yourself a few more minutes of ogling before deciding you’ve put him through enough.

Reaching for the mask, you slowly remove it, being extra careful with the elastic (you know from experience how much that stuff can hurt) and neatly return it to the box still resting in his lap. Smiling contentedly, you look up and gasp when your nose brushes Michael’s. Blood rushes to your face and you scramble back a few steps, blinking with wide eyes as he returns your stare, cheeks reddening ever so slightly.

“O-oh! I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t realize how close I was leaning in!” You rush to explain, laughing awkwardly and fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

Michael gazes owlishly at you, and while he isn’t incredibly expressive, you get the feeling that he’s just as embarrassed as you are. A couple of painfully slow minutes pass by, the silence almost suffocating as you wrack your brain on how to recover from this situation. Suddenly, you perk up and rush towards your bag, picking it up and rummaging through it.

“Hey! How about I brush your hair? It’s looking a teeeensy bit knotty today,” You cheep cheekily, glancing over to see Michael glaring at you, a playful glint in his eyes. With a smug wink, you poke your tongue out at him before grabbing your brush and putting your purse back down. Using your other hand, you begin to drag the chair towards Michael’s when his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and preventing you from moving. You look up at him in confusion, noting with relief that he doesn’t appear distressed at all.

“What is it Mikey?”

Releasing your arm, he stands up and ambles towards the bed against the wall, pausing for a moment before plopping down.

“Oh, I see. You wanna be comfy, right?” You say with an affectionate smile, following his path and hopping onto the bed with a soft bounce. Settling next to him, you raise your arm to begin brushing when he hold up a hand, signalling for you to stop. You comply, but your eyebrows knit together in puzzlement as you wonder what else he wants. Before you get the chance to ask, he jerks his hand forward a bit, and you interpret this to mean “move back”. So you scoot back a little, watching curiously as he inches back as well. He then lowers his head into your lap, folding his arms against his belly as your eyes widen. _Oh… So that’s what he was going for._

Heat returns to your cheeks and you stare dumbly for a moment, Michael eyeing your hesitation with amusement. Snapping out of your daze, you playfully heave an exaggerated sigh and begin to run your fingers through his dirty blond locks, deciding to work through the left side first. Feeling more than hearing him exhale, Michael closes his eyes and relaxes against your legs. You won’t be able to reach all of his hair in this position, but as you gaze down at his peaceful expression, you know that it’s worth it.

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Michael ends up falling asleep soon after you start, and while you wait for quite some time after untangling all the hair you could reach, he’s out like a light. So, you gently remove his head from your lap and grab the pillow from the other side of the bed, placing it carefully underneath his neck. You put the chair back and gather your things as quietly as possible, hesitating a moment before walking towards the desk. Pulling out your notebook, you quickly write him a little note, feeling bad you aren’t able to properly say goodbye.

Once you’re finished, you tiptoe to the door and silently exit the room, holding the door and gradually letting it close until you hear a soft click. With a final farewell to the guards, you’re off to see your Buggy.

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(October 31st, 2xxx)

A cool breeze tickles your cheek as you hang the last of the streamers across your door, neatly tacking the end with an artist’s precision. Stepping back, you admire your handiwork: a large Halloween-themed wreath rests at the center, surrounded by several streamers, spooky faces, and cut out shapes. It’s the evening of Halloween, so perhaps a bit late to be finishing your decorations, but you feel proud nonetheless. Distant squeals and giggles echo behind you, and when you turn, you see several kids running up to a house across the street, a small group of chaperones meandering behind them. Chuckling gently, you smile as you watch them receive their candy, wishing you could do the same. But alas, you’re a big girl now, and big girls must resign themselves to handing out candy instead. While you certainly miss going out trick-or-treating, you’re excited to meet a lot of super cute kids and see all kinds of different costumes.

A sudden, insistent meowing comes from the other side of your door, and you open it to find Honey pacing around, griping about her empty bowl.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming! You can stop yelling now, silly goose,” You chastise lightly, walking into the kitchen and filling her bowl with fresh food.  
She bounds over at the sound and begins eating with gusteau, making you laugh with how dramatic she can be.

A quick glance at the clock lets you know that it’s 6:42pm, and while it’s mostly early bird moms and their little kids who are out at this time, you decide to change into your costume. You walk through the kitchen, stepping carefully over Honey and towards your room, excitement bubbling in your chest. Dressing up is so much fun, and you’ve already set everything else up: the bowl of candy, your decorations, and even your makeup, so after you get changed, you can relax and wait for the trick-or-treaters.

When you enter your room, you close the door out of habit and strip, shivering as the cool air kisses your bare skin. Hurrying to your closet, you grab the costume and take it off the hanger, draping it on your bed so you can go get the accessories. Once you’ve gathered everything, you slip your costume on, taking a moment to appreciate how cute you look in the mirror before adding all of the accessories. You’re moving towards the door when you remember that you haven’t put shoes on yet. As you roll your eyes at your own forgetfulness, you walk to your shoe rack and grab them, sitting on your bed so you can put them on. You manage to fasten the first one with little trouble, but you fumble with the tiny buckle on the second shoe, face scrunching in concentration. They look fantastic, being an extremely lucky thrift store find you happened upon while shopping with your friends, but they unfortunately suffer the same fate as every strappy women’s shoe: incredibly tiny holes that do not open easily.

You’ve just managed to finish buckling it when a loud crash resounds downstairs, your head snapping up in surprise. _What…? What the heck was that?_ A chill travels down your spine, and you briefly think about calling the police before remembering that you have a cat. A _very_ mischievous cat. You feel relieved as you stand, adjusting your stockings one last time before opening the door and walking into the living room.

“Honey! What on Earth did you do this time?” You call, glancing into the kitchen. Honey is nowhere to be seen, but you’re not surprised. She probably knocked over a picture or vase somewhere.

With a heavy sigh, you begin to search the room for the crime scene. You decide to start your investigation with the tiny fireplace to your right. After inspecting it carefully, you find that nothing’s been disturbed, so you walk over to your display shelves, crouching down to get a better look.

Suddenly, the hair on your arms prickle to life, your body on high alert as you sense something off. You feel an invisible pressure against your back, as if someone is staring you down. _Wait a minute… I know this feeling…! But… it can’t be!_

Jumping to a stand, you whirl around and find Michael standing at the other end of the room, wearing his favourite mask and a dusty blue jumpsuit. Your eyes widen in bewilderment, eyebrows knitting together as you feel a bit of relief that it’s not a stranger, but your heart continues pounding.

“M...Michael?! What the heck are you doing here?! Oh, sweet Jesus. Michael, listen, I miss you too, but you can’t just- break out of Smith’s Grove!” You exclaim, gesturing wildly before running a shaky hand through your hair as you try to comprehend the situation.

“Oh, geez… Mikey, I’m really sorry, but I have to call Dr. Loomis,” You say, turning to walk towards your room, “If you want, I’ll come back with you, but it’s dangerous for you to be out!”

You barely make it a few feet before strong arms grab you from behind, yanking you against Michael’s body. With a squeak you begin to struggle violently, kicking and clawing at his arms as you try to wriggle out of his grasp, trying in vain to escape his steel grip. Slowly, he brings a hand to your face, and all you register is a rough sensation by your mouth before slipping into unconsciousness.

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Jerking awake, you gasp and jolt up, immediately regretting it as your head swims. With a groan you try to rub your temples, but you’re unable to move your arms. Horrified, you realize your arms are above your head, and you look up to see your wrists tied to the headboard of the bed. _Oh my God! What happened?!_ You still feel pretty woozy, but you close your eyes and focus on remembering what happened before you blacked out. _It was Halloween day… Honey knocked something over… No… Michael… Michael broke into my house! Is he the one who chained me up?!_

Your eyes shoot open as you begin to panic, blinking a few times before your eyes properly focus. You take in your surroundings, first noting that you’re in your own room. This provides little comfort as you still have no idea what’s going on. Looking back up, you find your arms are tied with rope, and you desperately try to move them in an effort to loosen the knots. This goes on for several minutes, tears streaming down your cheeks as your wrists burn, only stopping once the pain becomes too much to bear. You hiccup and gasp, fierce sobs wracking your frame.

A rustling comes from the closet and your attention snaps towards it, unable to stop your cries as you frantically pray it isn’t Michael. Relief washes over you when Honey peeks her head from behind the door, looking around before creeping towards you. Smiling through your tears, you coo at her when she jumps onto the bed, stepping over you and curling into the space between you and the wall. She’s frightened too, judging by her flattened ears and constant trembling.

You lie there for what seems to be a couple hours, crying yourself out as the dim sunlight peering through your blinds fades to darkness and then moonlight. Honey breathes steadily beside you, having fallen asleep once you stopped crying, and you silently wish you could join her, your body still on high alert despite your tired eyes. Closing them lightly, you begin to wonder if you should try to escape your bonds again when you hear the front door open. Your eyelids fly open, anxiety coiling tight in your belly as heavy footsteps move through the living room and slowly near your door.

The air is electric with anticipation, your eyes glued to the doorway in absolute terror, and for a solid minute, you forget how to breathe. As the footsteps get nearer, your chest heaves quicker, heart threatening to pop out as it rapidly pounds. _He’s almost here._ Your legs curl closer to your chest as you push against the headboard, trying in vain to put distance between you and the approaching man.

Gradually, his shadowy form appears in the doorway. You begin to quiver harder, your pulse thrashing erratically in your throat. He continues walking into the room, creeping towards you before stopping a few feet from the bed. With moonlight illuminating the eerie features of his mask, he stands as still as a statue, piercing gaze boring into you with more intensity than ever. The pressure makes you feel like you’re going to shatter, but as you stare back, you feel a semblance of hope spark in your heart. _This is Michael_ you remind yourself. _Michael, who colours pictures with you and follows at your heels like a puppy! Maybe… This is just a misguided display of affection…??_ Taking a deep breath, you will yourself to sound strong.

“Michael, what are you doing? Why did you tie me up?” You wince as your voice comes out more like a trembly whine. Nevertheless, it prompts the large man to walk forward, and you resist the urge to lean away when he crouches next to the bed, bringing him close to eye level. Watching him cautiously, you observe as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a square piece of paper, gingerly unfolding it before presenting it to you. It’s a faded photograph of a man, woman, and a young girl holding a baby. Scrunching your eyebrows in confusion, you study the picture more, trying to discern what he wants you to get from this.

“Michael… I don’t understand-”

Before you can ask any questions, he points to the baby in the picture, and you follow his hand as he points to himself. Tentatively, you glance up to meet his gaze.

“Oh, so.. This is your family?”

He nods before signing the word “want”, something you taught him so you could better communicate, and despite the frightening situation you feel a flicker of pride.

“You… want your family back?”

You feel pretty confident that you understand, but he shakes his head no, gesturing towards the photograph. Once you look at it again, he points to the man, and then to himself. He pauses, leaving you dumbfounded, before pointing to the woman, and then… to you.

Completely at a loss, your face twists more. What is he trying to tell you? _This is a picture of his family… And he wants it, but not his family? He wants… a different family? Where he’s the father, and I-_

Everything clicks and so much heat rushes to your face that you feel a bit dizzy. With eyes the size of saucers, you stare at the photograph for a few more moments before working up the courage to meet his intense gaze, finding a hint of eagerness in his dark eyes. You open your mouth to speak, but close it again, unsure of what to say. Thoughts whirl through your head at a mile a minute, mouth dry as you try to process this shocking revelation.

“Wha- Michael… Are you saying… that you want to start a family with me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, cracking slightly at the end of your question. Even though you know better, you feverishly, desperately pray that he says no.

He nods faster this time, leaning in closer and staring at you with hopeful eyes. You try to speak, but blackness begins creeping into your vision, head swimming as you cut yourself off. Whether it be from fatigue, shock, fear, or a combination of all, you feel dizzy and completely powerless, groaning tiredly before succumbing to the darkness.

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When you come to, your vision is blurry, and you slowly sit up as you blearily blink into focus. Once you can see, you find that Michael is gone, and you feel relieved that you don’t have to face him just yet. Honey is still by your side, but your arms are tied in front of you now. This takes a moment to register, but your eyes shoot completely open when you realize that this is your chance! Jumping up, you ignore Honey’s grumpy protest as you hurry towards the door, about to run out when you suddenly halt. _Michael isn’t in my room, but… that doesn’t mean he’s not in my house._ With this in mind, you glance out the doorway, looking around to ensure the coast is clear before tiptoeing down the hallway. Peeking your head around the corner, you search every single direction for any sign of Michael. You don’t see any, but just to be safe, you stay where you are and continue to look, listening intently for any noises that may indicate his presence. After roughly 5 minutes pass, you decide that it’s safe and spring into action once more.

Running to the kitchen, you grab one of your knives and try to twist it around before realizing you won’t be able to cut the rope that way. Worrying your lip, you anxiously pace about as you wrack your brain for a way to get out of your binds. You decide to inspect it a bit more and look down at your wrists. A single piece of rope ties them together, and your eyes widen when you see the knot is facing you: you might be able to untie it! Leaning against the counter, you strain to reach your hand forward, ignoring the discomfort as you force it to your wrist. Miraculously, the bind is loose enough that you can wiggle around, and you’re able to grip the part you want! As you furiously pull at it, you wonder briefly if Michael made it looser because he felt bad about how raw you rubbed your skin.

The thought leaves your mind as soon as you pull the knot loose, feeling elated as you toss the rope to the side and dash to put your tennis shoes on. Grabbing your purse, you quickly pull out your keys and fly to your room, scooping Honey into your arms before running out the front door, not even bothering to lock it. You hurriedly unlock Buggy and put Honey in the passenger seat, closing the door and jogging to the other side of the car. You jump in the front seat, fumbling to turn it on before slamming into reverse and speeding off into the night.

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Michael sprints away from his childhood home, faltering a bit as he nears the car. Ripping the door open, he throws himself in and starts the engine, unable to wait before jabbing the gas with his foot. As he drives further from Lampkin Lane, he allows the car to slow down, but he does not relax. He was unable to kill Laurie. She was so tantalizingly close, he could practically feel the knife slicing into her soft flesh, finally giving him the release from his horrible sister’s claws that he so desperately needs. _But he couldn’t!_

Slamming a hand against the steering wheel, he growls and speeds up, itching to return to his new home. He was unable to kill Laurie, but he has something worth one million of his sister’s deaths waiting for him there.

Finally turning the corner to (Y/N)’s street, excitement flickers through Michael’s veins. His precious one is probably still sleeping, but he secretly hopes she’ll be awake so she can comfort him. She’s such a sweet little thing, he knows she’ll do whatever she can to help the minute she sees his injuries. Underneath his mask, the corner of Michael’s lips twitch up at the thought of (Y/N) tending his wounds.

Completely lost in thought, he doesn’t notice her car is missing when he pulls into the driveway. After parking, he jumps out, hurriedly locking it before jogging up the porch stairs. The many bullet holes in his body pinch him annoyingly, but he pays them no mind as he grabs the key he lovingly borrowed from his pocket. Eagerly he moves to unlock the door, but when he touches the knob it slowly cracks open with a groan.

Michael’s blood runs cold. Yanking the door open, he runs towards (Y/N)’s room, heart pounding in his ears. He grabs the doorway and looks inside. (Y/N) is nowhere to be seen. Breathing heavily, he sprints to the guest bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, tearing every room apart in his search. He rips open every single cupboard, looks under beds and in closets, not missing a single spot that a human could possibly hide.

When he finds himself in the living room again, completely alone, he backs up slowly, the realization that _(Y/N) is gone_ creeping through his mind like a disease. Adrenaline burning through his blood, the anger that had been building erupts into white hot fury. He bolts out the door and back into his car, igniting the engine before slamming on the gas.

(Y/N) is gone, but he’s going to find her. And if he can’t track her down, then he’ll murder every other person on Earth to get her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh! some fluffiness, freakiness and a little suspense! i really hope this is okay, i don't feel as great about it as the other chapters but i'm seriously just trying to get this thing out! i'm super glad people like my dumb scribbles though, i am simply a fool with a computer!


	4. Ava Adore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is this?! 5 chapters now?! i know i'm being a huge tease, but i promise i'm not holding out on you guys!! the freaky deaky things will 100% be coming next chapter, and i'm really gonna try to get it out by tonight!! there's a huge power imbalance happening here, and it's inherently dubcon bc of the whole stockholm syndrome thing, but i was absolutely not gonna write it as noncon! so for that to happen, there needed to be build up... lots and lots of build up... and i'll be building up even more in the next chapter, but it will all come to a head, don't you worry about that ;*P for now have this thing that i had an absolute blast writing!
> 
> p.s. the song i listened to basically the entire time while writing this was girl that you love by panic at the disco! and the song in the chapter is tear you apart by she wants revenge, bc i'm a big music slut and my writing is fueled by atmospheric songs :'^)

Street lights fly by in bright blurs, the illumination that once made you feel safe now bringing a feeling of uncomfortable exposure. Your heart hammers against your ribcage as you drive, glancing frequently between the dark road ahead and your rear view mirror. Droplets of sweat slither down your back, and you try hard to steady your breath, clammy hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. The sky is pitch black, and you come to the realization that you have no idea how much time has passed. Quickly, you sneak a hand into your purse to unlock your phone, glimpsing at it once the screen brightens: 2am. With an exhausted sigh, you tuck it back into place and focus on the road again, only to see distant flickers of red and blue. The anxiety gnawing at you swells, and you swiftly slow to exactly the speed limit, going as fast as you can without the threat of being stopped. As you near the police cars, a huge crowd of teenagers comes into view, and your eyes widen when you notice they’re all yelling and throwing things at one house. Police, it seems, are trying to stop them, and you wonder what could have happened to get so many kids worked up before shaking your head: _I have to focus._

 

As it happens, you’re on your way to the police station to report that Michael has escaped and payed you a visit. Under other circumstances, you probably would have gone to Smith’s Grove first, but you’re sure they’ve noticed his absence by now, and you’ve spent enough time with Dr. Loomis to be certain he’s already out looking for Michael. The scenery around you is darker now, sparse lighting doing little to help you see across the blackened street. Everything is eerily quiet, with only the constant rumble of tires against gravel to ease the ghostly stillness. _If only my house wasn’t at the very edge of town_  you think, cursing how cheap the rent is. Normally, you celebrate it, but when you’re being chased by a lovesick murderer, distance between you and law enforcement is the last thing you want.

 

Glancing to your side mirror, your body stiffens at the sight of a pair of headlights in the distance. Chills bubble across your body, and your pulse thrums heavily in your throat as you watch the car steadily approach. You quickly look around, hoping that there are still police nearby, but your heart drops when you see there are none. Picking up some speed, you pray desperately that it’s not Michael, unable to stop the icy sensation prickling your skin. As you watch from the rear view mirror, your breath hitches when the car gets close, forgetting to breathe entirely as it moves around Buggy at an agonizing pace. With blood as cold as steel, you dare to look glimpse to the side.

 

A random woman is in the driver’s seat, moving her head to a muffled beat as she passes you by.

 

It feels like a crushing weight has been lifted from you, your entire body relaxing with a heavy sigh. Softly, you begin to laugh, feeling lighter than you have the entire day, and just as your burst of happiness is fading, the police station comes into view. Relief washes over you in a tempering wave, and while you feel much better when you pull into the lot, a knot of unease continues anchoring your belly. Doing your best to ignore it, you park in the space furthest to the back and get out of the car, grabbing your purse before walking to the other side and whisking Honey into your arms. Jogging to the entrance, you feel lucky that she’s such a good cat, staring up at you curiously but remaining still in your hold.

 

When you open the door, a small bell rings, and the receptionist looks up, eyebrows raising as confusion molds her features. With a sheepish smile, you stop in front of her desk, jostling Honey a bit before speaking.

 

“I’m really sorry to rush in here with my cat, but I have an urgent situation. I volunteer with Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, and one of our patients escaped.”

 

Her eyes widen at your statement, folding her arms against the desk as she leans forward.

 

“You’re talking about Michael Myers, right?” She asks, eyeing your disheveled state before meeting your gaze.

 

Jaw dropping slightly at her question, you gawk for a moment before realizing the facility definitely would have called the police after finding Michael gone.

 

“Yeah. Dr. Loomis must have called you guys, right? I just wanted to make sure police knew,” You say, shoulders relaxing a little.

 

“No, actually. We have been in contact with Dr. Loomis, but it’s a young lady who made the call alerting us to Michael’s presence in town. Two children ran to her house and told her to phone police because “the boogeyman was hurting their babysitter”. When officers got there, they found the bodies of three teenagers, one surviving girl and the doctor, and Mr. Myers is our prime suspect,” She explains calmly.

 

Ice floods your veins, time itself seeming to pause as you gape helplessly at the woman. _Three bodies?! Oh my God-_  A tight, sick feeling wracks your belly, and your hand clamps against your mouth as you struggle to regain composure. After swallowing a lump in your throat, you let out a shaky breath and move your hand to cup your cheek.

 

“M… Michael murdered three kids…?” You utter, disbelief seeping through your words as images of your sweet, mischievous friend flash through your mind. A dark history you chose to accept begins wearing at the innocent memories, however, strengthened by the menacing visit he paid you earlier that night.

 

Nodding sagely, the receptionist gives you a sad smile, eyes crinkling with sympathy.

 

“That’s what we believe, yes. We wouldn’t have known if Dr. Loomis hadn’t told the sheriff.” She pauses before leaning forward a bit, looking to you with concern. “Is there a particular reason you’ve come here, miss? If you need help or have any information regarding Mr. Myers, please let me know.”

 

You blink absently for a moment, looking down and lowering your arm to hold Honey in both once more. Thoughts storm through your mind, everything that’s happened overwhelming you in a tidal wave of emotions. When pictures of rope and a shape looming at your bedside swirl through your memory, you take a deep breath and meet the woman’s gaze.

 

“Yes, I… I was getting ready for Halloween when Michael broke into my house to- um- visit… me...” you finish tentatively, forgoing the grittier details to avoid putting any more charges on Michael. Despite everything he's done, you can’t help yourself from protecting him still.

 

“Oh- I’m so sorry that happened to you! Can you tell me your address? Was he still there when you left?” She questions, eyes wide as she quickly grabs a notepad and pen.

 

“My address is (address),” You begin, stopping after Honey squirms a bit in your arms. You shift her so she’s resting against your shoulder, petting her back as you support her behind with your other arm. “He wasn’t there when I left, but I’m positive he’ll come looking for me when he realizes I’m gone.”

 

Nodding as she scribbles something down, the receptionist reaches for the phone before looking at you gently.

 

“Thank you. I’ll have some officers visit your house as soon as possible. Most of our staff is out searching for Mr. Myers, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. In fact, here,” She picks up a set of keys on the desk, singling one out before holding them out to you. “This is the key to the lounge room that’s just down the hall. I’d hate for you to have to wait in a dingy interrogation room.”

 

Taking the keys, you smile and thank her profusely, feeling relieved you’ll be able to stay here. The fact that you haven’t seen an actual police officer yet does make you a little nervous, but this is the safest place for you to be either way. You walk down the hallway, eyeing the signs beside each door until you reach the one that says “LOUNGE”. After unlocking the door, you step inside and pause as you debate closing it, deciding eventually to leave it cracked. You set Honey down on the couch, but to your dismay she immediately jumps off and begins wandering around the room. Putting your bag down, you watch her carefully as she stretches her legs, only relaxing when she pads back over and jumps onto a nearby chair. With a soft “oomph” you plop down on the couch, letting your head fall back against the cushion as you ponder the shocking news. Michael… Michael killed more people. You can’t believe it-

…

No, unfortunately, you can believe it. You just _really_  don’t want to. You don’t want to believe the man you’ve spent the last year befriending has succumbed to the awful ways of his childhood. An aching twists in your chest, tears threatening to spill as they well against your waterline. Perhaps it was naive, an unrealistic, rose-coloured daydream spurred by saccharine love stories, but… You really did think… That maybe you’d changed him. At the very least, you’d thought you had a chance. But a crushing feeling presses down on you as you realize that perhaps love can’t change everyone, no matter how much you want it to. Squeezing your eyes, you force the budding tears down, gingerly wiping them away as you attempt to harden your heart. With a leaden sigh, you sit up and reach for a remote resting on the coffee table. You’re going to have to face this eventually, so you might as well get it over with.

 

Flipping the television on, you see that it’s already on a news channel. Any hope that this is all just a horrible nightmare is squashed by the headline moving across the bottom of the screen: “THREE TEENS FOUND DEAD, SUSPECT STILL AT LARGE”. Rubbing your arms, you lift your legs and fold them closer to you, listening as the reporter goes through the current information. Three teens murdered, one survivor that’s in emergency care, a suspect who was shot multiple times but still managed to slip away. You shiver at that, memory flashing to the first time Michael grabbed your arm, and the threat of almost supernatural strength that lied beneath it. The woman has just started to interview a nearby boy when a distant clatter steals your attention.

 

You freeze. The logical part of you is begging you to relax: it easily could have been the receptionist dropping something, or perhaps another worker. But thoughts of Michael and murder are so fresh in your mind, creeping through your veins and making your belly tighten anxiously. So after a moment of debate, you stand swiftly, grabbing the keys before rushing to lock the door. Once you do, you gently pick up Honey and put her in your purse, zipping it just enough so her head can poke out and slinging it onto your shoulder. Wringing your hands, your eyes dart around the room as you search for something that might be useful, and when you glance towards the kitchen area, you spot it: a rack of knives. You worry your lip in thought for just a second before grabbing the largest one, deciding you’d much rather be safe than sorry. After backing into the corner adjacent to the door, you wait.

 

A few agonizing moments amble past, your heart humming anxiously as you listen intently, eyes glued to the entrance. A quiet murmur is all that you hear, and you wonder briefly what it could be before realizing: you’ve been so focused that you forgot to turn off the television! Before you can move to do so, however, you hear a slight creaking, and your blood runs frigid when you realize somebody is slowly turning the doorknob. Ignoring the clamminess, your grip tightens on the knife as you pray desperately that whoever it is will go away when they realize it’s locked. The door shudders a little and you jump, breath hitching faintly at their attempt to open it.

 

You’re completely still as a beat passes, a hope fluttering in your chest that’s instantly strangled when the door starts shaking violently. The sound is almost deafening, amplified by the blood that roars in your ears as you scramble towards the wall, throwing your purse protectively behind your back. The person is relentlessly shoving at the door, white wood tremoring for a minute before you hear loud, hard thumps start to beat against it: _they’re trying to punch through the door!_  An involuntary scream bubbles in your throat, but you try to choke it back, letting out a strained cry as tears flood your lower lashes. You jerk when a piece of wood flies into the room, eyes widening vastly as you gasp. More and more chunks are smashed through until an arm rips through the door and starts feeling around. Spasming in fear, you wail when you recognize the grey-blue fabric wriggling about, quivering harder when it finds the doorknob. In a panic, you whip your arms behind your back, hiding the knife and hoping frantically that you can reason with him.

 

Briskly, the hand turns the knob and slams the door open, Michael pausing for a moment as his chest heaves. You cry uncontrollably as he slowly turns his attention to you, gaze burning into your own with a ferocity you’ve never seen. Cold fear invades your body, tingling your fingertips and toes as you shrink under his savage stare. Like a spider who’s caught its prey in a web, he tears his arm from the hole in the door and begins approaching you unhurriedly. Your back is already against the wall, but your feet push back anyway, feverish to get away.

 

“Michael, please, please don’t- _Michael!_ ” You scream, weeping as you try to reach the man you once knew.

 

But he does not react, continuing to approach you at a gradual, almost leisurely pace, a sharp contrast to his intensely predatory eyes. As he corners you, you come to the painful conclusion that you may have never known him at all.

 

Suddenly, he lunges at you, and without thinking you scrunch your eyes and thrust the knife forward. Feeling the blade jam into something thick, your eyes fly open, and before you’re able to register that _you just stabbed Michael_ , you take advantage of his surprise by kneeing him hard in the crotch. With a muffled grunt, he crumples to the floor, and you leap over his curling form before bolting.

 

Adrenaline buzzes hotly through your veins as you sprint to your car, tearing the door open and climbing in. Retaining a bit of sense, you gently toss your purse to the passenger seat, mumbling a quick apology at Honey’s complaint before throwing the knife into the backseat. Not bothering to strap in, you floor it out of the parking lot and head towards the opposite end of town.

 

As you speed down the empty streets, your head swims in frenetic thoughts, trying hard to think of _where the fuck to go_. If the police station isn’t even safe, where could you go? Is anywhere safe? _Would you ever be able to get away?_  With a sharp inhale, you press harder on the gas, a light scowl overtaking your features as you decide there’s only one thing to do: skip town. It’s spontaneous, and you might regret it later, but it’s honestly the only idea that could work. You have your Buggy, your wallet, and Honey, and while it’s totally bare-bones, you’ll be able to make do until Michael’s caught.

 

The stars shooting through the darkness provide some comfort, a constant reminder that you’re putting distance between you and your attacker, and the adrenaline from your encounter is fueled by the high speed. Without thinking, you lower the window a little bit, heart flitting excitedly when you feel the wind rush through your hair. Your scowl slowly melts into a smirk before bursting into buzzed laughter, exhilaration blooming in your chest as you fly through the night. _I just escaped a killer **twice**!_  Despite your previous horror, the fact that you almost got caught before slipping away by the skin of your teeth makes you feel powerful, especially since you escaped Michael once before. Feeling much brighter, you switch the radio on, smile growing at the synth-heavy beat thumping through the speakers. Apparently it’s 80s night on your favourite station, and it’s the perfect soundtrack for your high-speed drive.

 

The next hour passes in a blur of smudging scenery and pounding bass, and you’re soon on the same isolated road you use to get to Smith’s Grove. Your adrenaline high has calmed down, but you don’t feel as nervous about your situation as you thought you would. With straight, barren roads going on for miles, you’ve had plenty of time to flesh out a plan. You’d stop for gas in the next town and continue driving, only stopping once you reach the town after that and find a motel. While you’d prefer a hotel under any other circumstances, motels are better for anonymity and staying on the down-low. After that, you’d just have to wait, and maybe go another few towns after a couple of days. You didn’t know what lengths Michael was willing to go through to chase you, but you want to be safe.

 

As the wind swirls through your hair, the synthwave pulsing through your radio wanes to a drum beat, light guitar scratches fading in before a man begins to talk-sing in a monotonous voice that vaguely reminds you of The Cure. It’s more… gothic than everything else they’ve been playing, but you don’t mind it. You find yourself smiling as you picture fishnets, teased black hair and enough eyeliner to cover every worker at Hot Topic.

 

With a delicate sigh, you allow one hand to leave the steering wheel and rest against your open window, glancing outside before jumping at the sight of distant headlights in your rear view mirror. Dread washes over you, chills creeping up your back as you immediately fear the worst, but you quickly remind yourself of the false scare you had on the way to the police station. _I’m sure it’s just another person. Even if it’s pretty late, plenty of people use this road._

 

Bringing your hand back to the wheel, you attempt to calm your nerves by focusing on the music. The beat is significantly darker now, guitar droning in a way that’s both hypnotic and eerie, and when the chorus sets in, a haunting choir accompanies the lead singer.

 

“ _I want to hold you close,_

_Soft breath, beating heart,_

_As I whisper in your ear:_

**_I wanna fucking tear you apart_** ”

 

Your face scrunches in a grimace, scoffing at the ridiculously edgy lyrics. _What kind of torture porn crap is this?_  you think, moving to turn the volume down as you roll your eyes. You stop, however, when a glint catches your gaze, turning your head and gasping when you see it’s the reflection of headlights in your side mirror. The once-distant car is now much closer, and because it is, you can see that it’s  _speeding towards you_.

 

Panicking, you jab the gas with all your might, Buggy jerking forward with a slight screech. Wincing a little at the sound, you pray that it isn’t Michael, and if it is, that Buggy’s able to outrun him. You manage to gain a little distance before watching in horror as the car speeds up, engine roaring. Sweat breaks out against your temples, adrenaline surging through you once more as you kick the gas frenziedly, hoping with all your might that Buggy’s got something, _anything_  left to help you get an advantage. It really tries, engine sputtering a bit before picking up a little speed, but it’s not enough. As the thundering groan gets nearer, you glimpse at the side mirror and whimper when you see the car right behind you, completely helpless as it pulls around to your side.

 

You dare to look out of the corner of your eye, seeing a flash of white in the driver’s seat before the car rams into Buggy, your poor baby jolting at the impact. Continuously forcing your foot against the pedal, your head begins swimming as anxiety rips through your body, knowing you won’t be able to get away this time but trying hysterically anyways. After a moment, the car smashes into Buggy with much more force, sending you spinning off the road. You’re awake long enough to know that it didn’t roll over, but the collision sends your head flying towards the steering wheel, hearing a hard _THUMP!_  before blacking out.

 

✼⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊱•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅✼

 

When you become aware of yourself, the first thing you notice is black. Darkness surrounds you, and for a solid minute, you wonder if you’re dead. A freezing sensation somewhere above you begins pulling you from your existential confusion, and as you become more aware of your physical body, you realize it’s against your hairline. Your limbs feel like lead, and it takes a few more minutes of focusing to feel completely in your body once more.

 

Cracking your eyes open, you’re met with more darkness before your eyes adjust, and once they do you fully open them to see that you’re back in your room. A glance down shows Honey curled up by your bare legs, an oversized T-shirt providing you modesty. You’re confused as to what’s going on before the coldness against your head increases in pressure, and your gaze flies up to find Michael, now maskless, gingerly pressing an ice pack to your forehead.

 

You gasp, immediately regretting it as his eyes flicker to you, less predatory than last time but just as intense. Flushing, you quickly look down again, curling your hands into your lap before realizing that you’ve changed clothes, but you’ve been out cold this entire time. _Michael changed your clothes._  More heat rushes to your cheeks, and you feel like you’re glowing with embarrassment as you try to comprehend the situation. _So, Michael ran me off the road after I stabbed him and kneed him where it hurts, brought me back to my house, changed my clothes, and is now tending to the head wound that knocked me out??_  Groaning softly, you rub your face into your hands, wondering if this day could get anymore ridiculous when you notice something else. You move your hands away so you can study them, surprised when your suspicions are confirmed: Michael hasn’t tied you up yet. For a moment, you’re confused, but you slap your hands against your face once more when you figure it out. Right now, there’s no need for Michael to worry about you escaping. Now that he has you where he wants you, you’re completely powerless against him. There’s no way you’d ever overpower him with brute strength, and since you provided such a convenient way for him to take you where he wanted (getting knocked out), he doesn’t have to worry about anymore obstacles like the knife getting in his way. You’re _helpless_.

 

Shivering, you try to think of something to say. At this point, you know it’s useless, but you desperately want to believe there’s some semblance of the man you thought you understood in the giant body crouching next to your bed. Surely there must be some humanity in him, something that will let him have mercy on you. As you’re wracking your brain, a sudden feather-light touch makes the skin of your arm prickle, and you glimpse down to see Michael stroking it ever so slightly. Dread yanks your heart down as you fully realize the severity of the situation you’re in. Michael is 100% intent on keeping you here and doing _things_  with you, and your belly twists as you wonder whether or not your consent will even matter.

 

You sit in silence, brooding anxiously as Michael holds the ice pack to your head. The air is unbearably thick, your throat dry as cold sweat beads against your temples. You can feel the heat of his breath fan across your face, his body leaning uncomfortably close to yours. Ignoring the desire to wither under his intense gaze, you take a deep breath and force yourself to look him in the eyes. When you turn, your noses almost brush, and your heart clenches as you’re reminded of a happy time that seems like eons ago.

 

“Michael… Please. I don’t want this. I’m really flattered, and I really do love you a lot too, but- this… this isn’t right. It’s not okay to try something this big with someone who hasn’t consented. Please… Michael… Please, let me go,” You worry your lip a bit, hesitating before bringing a hand to his cheek. “ _Please_. I’ll still visit you as often as I can, and we can just pretend like none of this ever happened. Please…” You end on a hushed plea, eyes boring imploringly into his own.

 

The world is still, and Michael does not react. He keeps his gaze trained on your own, but you’ve known him long enough to see the gears in his head turning. After several minutes, he still hasn’t moved, and hope flutters anxiously in your chest as he seems to seriously consider your words. Slowly, his eyes close, and you feel him take a long, deep breath before opening them again. When he does, something has changed. His eyes are as intense as ever, but they seem… more determined, hardened into a tough decision. For a moment, you simply watch him, unsure if the change is good or bad, but he doesn’t wait long before grasping your arm and giving it a squeeze. It’s gentle, reverent… Almost apologetic. Your heart sinks when you realize what this means.

 

“Michael… No,” You murmur, hand covering your mouth as tears well in your eyes.

 

He reaches up to stroke your hair before placing the ice pack in your lap, giving you one last longing look before standing and leaving the room.

 

When the door shuts, you roll over and begin to cry, curling into a ball and lying there until you cry yourself to sleep.

 

✼⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊱•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅✼

 

When you wake up, light is pouring through the blinds of your window, forcing you to blink a bit before your eyes adjust. Sitting up, you notice that Honey is gone, and when you search the rest of the room for her, you find Michael instead, crouched in front of your biggest dresser and… putting your clothes into a suitcase? Trepidation fills your body once more, but you don’t have the energy to get too stressed about it. What would be the point? Michael’s going to do what he wants, and you have no power to stop it, so there’s no reason to get worked up over it.

 

As if sensing your gaze, Michael turns his head slightly, eyes meeting your own and you look away instantly. Though very quiet, you catch a gentle sigh escaping the man before he resumes packing. You lie there a minute, feeling empty and defeated when a low rumble vibrates your belly. _Oh man… When was the last time I ate something?_  Glancing back at Michael, you feel fear prickle your skin at the thought of trying to leave the room before a surge of defiance flows through you, most likely fueled by your growing hunger pains, but you don’t care. This is _your God damned house_. And if you want something to eat, you’re allowed to go into your own kitchen and get the food that _you payed for!_

 

Still, you’d rather not anger Michael if you can avoid it. So, you gingerly swing your legs over the edge of the bed before standing, flinching slightly at the coldness of your wooden floors. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you realize that while this T-shirt _is_  oversized, it rides very short, and you briefly pull at the hem before padding over to Michael. When he looks up, his eyes meeting yours, you suddenly feel bashful, hands clasping behind your back as you clear your throat softly.

 

“Um… I’m gonna get something to eat.”

 

You pause, waiting until you’re sure Michael isn’t going to spring on you. Once you feel comfortable, you walk towards the door and open it slowly, giving him ample time to stop you. But he doesn’t. So, you turn the corner and begin the short trek to the kitchen, realizing with dismay that Michael has followed you out. It’s unsurprising, but as you pull your favourite cereal from the cupboard with a giant man breathing down your neck (or, more accurately, against your hair, since you barely reach the height of his ribs), you find yourself reminiscing about the unlimited privacy you used to take for granted. Once you’ve grabbed a bowl, you take your milk of choice out of the fridge and have begun to pour it when monstrous hands brush lightly against your waist. You falter for a moment, grasp shaking as you jump slightly at the contact, but luckily the milk doesn’t spill. It’s impossible to feel relieved, however, because one of Michael’s hands grips your waist firmer while the other brushes lightly against your belly, rubbing light circles. You don’t even _want_  to think about the implications of that as you finish making your breakfast, moving quickly out of his grasp and towards the living room.

 

He follows close behind, eyeing you as you plop down on the couch and flip the television to life, smiling happily when you see a Disney movie is on. It falters a bit when you realize which one: Beauty and the Beast. _How ironic_  you think bitterly, trying to push Michael far from your mind so you can eat your cereal and enjoy a nice movie in peace.

 

Unfortunately, he sits with you on the couch, far enough so you don’t brush legs, but the close proximity makes forgetting he exists pretty difficult. Sighing in defeat, you decide not to waste your mental energy and focus on the movie, because you really do love this one. You managed to catch it at the very beginning, so you’ll be able to watch the whole thing!

 

You finish your cereal about halfway through, but can’t bring yourself to move from the couch, too afraid to miss a part of the movie (despite seeing it many times before), so you place your empty bowl on the coffee table and continue watching.

 

By the end, you feel much better, silently thanking Disney for always having your back whenever you need a pick-me-up. You’re about to take your bowl to the sink when you hear the faintest sniffle beside you. Freezing, you sit in shock for a solid minute. _No. It can’t be._  Slowly, you turn your head to glance at Michael, only to find him facing away from you, but his quiet gasps and the way his broad frame shakes is more than enough. _He’s… crying… because of a Disney movie…??_

 

God, you decide, either doesn’t exist, or is the cruelest being in the entire universe, because you have been placed under house arrest by a murderer who wants to get you pregnant, and said murderer is now _crying_ because of a _Disney movie_ , and despite everything that’s happened, despite knowing that he has **_murdered people_** , you feel empathy bubbling in your chest. Your mother once warned you that your sappiness would get you killed, describing with mirth in her eyes how a killer would lure you into isolation by pretending to have a lost puppy and asking you tearfully if you could help him find it. Mama may have been joking, but as you give into your caring urges and reach for Michael, you have an inkling that you’ll wind up with a similar fate.

 

Brushing his back gently, you hesitate before rubbing soothing circles, heart tugging when you feel his hiccupy breaths. Slowly, he turns towards you, hair falling over his face, but not enough to shield his glistening eyes. You give a warm smile before squeezing his shoulder.

 

“It’s okay. I don’t really remember because I was little, but I probably cried when I first watched it too.”

 

You rub his arm a bit before pulling back, about to pick up your bowl before he pounces, wrapping his arms around you tightly and burying his head into your neck. For a beat, you remain still, shocked at the sudden contact, but you quickly melt into the embrace, tracing shapes against his back. There’s a slight wetness seeping into the collar of your shirt, but the moment is so endearing that you don’t particularly care. Nuzzling into his hair, you sigh with a fond exasperation. _It’s going to be a long day._

 

It’s only when Michael takes your hand and leads you back to your room, motioning for you to help him pack your things that you correct yourself. Heart sinking, you come back to your dismal reality now that the tender moment is shattered, resigning yourself as you grab one of your smaller suitcases.

 

_It’s not going to be a long day. It’s going to be a long life._


	5. Don't Fear The Reaper (La Petite Mort)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor (Y/N) gets caught between a rock and a hard place. Figuratively, and then literally.

Watching the blade slice easily into the orange flesh resting against the cutting board, silver glinting under the dull kitchen lights, you wonder what the people who used to live here were like. It’s clear they wanted to live off the grid, inhabiting a cabin deep into the Illinois forest with its own energy system. It was too perfect, but they never could have predicted they’d provide the ideal home for a murderer’s lifelong kidnapping.

 

After you moved in, Michael was quick to trash any evidence of the previous owners, but it was far too late to pretend he’d stumbled upon an abandoned cottage that just so happened to have working hydroelectricity. Their smiling faces are burned into your memory, photographs of them travelling and hiking shattered by the nightmares that explore their gruesome fate. Sometimes, Michael offs them quickly, slashing their throats with surgical precision, but other times, they suffer a grislier demise, Michael seeming to revel in the brutality as he employs more creative methods of execution. Screams ring in your ears while visions of blood and streaks of intestines flash through your mind, body trembling when you feel the invisible pressure of Michael’s cruelly apathetic gaze. You’re haunted by the decorations they lovingly picked for their home, earthy browns and reds melding together the way blood mats their hair and runs along the wooden floors in your dreams.

 

You jump at a sharp pain, tearing you from your thoughts as you look down to see a small cut on your finger, fresh blood bubbling lethargically along the thin line. As your breathing slows, you absently blink a few tears from your eyes before remembering what you were doing: cutting carrots for dinner. Shaking your head a bit, you set the knife down and walk to the bathroom, silently wishing you’d worn socks when the cold floor causes you to shiver. You’re gingerly wrapping a band-aid around the wound when you hear the door open, heavy footsteps pausing before heading towards the hallway. Eyes widening, you quickly gather the little pieces of paper into your palm, heartbeat hastening as you move to leave the room, but it’s too late. When you turn towards the door, you choke back a retch at the sight of Michael, peering at you through the weathered holes in his mask, dark red patches soaking his coverall. The sickening smell of copper wafts through the air, invading your senses and tightening your throat like a vise, and you watch your feet as you dart past him and back to the kitchen.

 

You wait until the sound of water rushing echoes from the hallway, relaxing slightly as you throw your trash away before grabbing the knife once more. After inspecting it for blood, you use it to push the carrot slices into a bowl of other veggies, lips twitching into a faint smile at your handiwork. Being stuck in one house 24/7 has given you ample time to hone your cooking skills.

 

It’s been about a month since Michael brought you here, or at least, that’s what you think. Time became hazy after the first few weeks, days seeming to melt together as your previous life slips further out of your grasp. Without a phone, laptop, or calendar to follow, your only indicator of time besides the sun is the forest around you, whose grey, barren trunks let you know that it’s currently winter. As you stare blankly out the window, you find the cold wasteland fitting, a hollowness eating slowly at your heart.

 

Life with Michael has taken a serious toll on your mental health. For most of the week, he follows at your heels, cloying you with his feather-light touches and unnerving you with his persistent stare. A couple times, though, he leaves you for the day, tautly bounding the many locks on every opening of the house, and you didn’t have to wait long to find out why. The first time he returned, you were seated on the couch, book dropping at the sight of the large man drenched in blood and grasping several plump backpacks. While he’s had no problems using the supplies stolen from his victims, it took you weeks to even touch them, only forcing yourself to once you ran out of shower gel. The sight of them piled up still revolts you, but you try your best to shove their origins from your mind when you’re in need of toiletries. As you listen to the monotonous patter of the shower, you’re thankful he at least has the decency to wash the blood away before approaching you.

 

Quite possibly the worst part of your situation, however, is Michael’s relentless attempts at winning you over. Using the money from his murders, he’ll buy you things you like, randomly showing up with fuzzy socks or your favourite food in hand. While he hasn’t stopped, he seemed to sense that it wasn’t working as well as he’d hoped, so he’s even bought treats for Honey, as if gaining her affection will warm you up to him. You scoff at the memory, nimble hands working with the rest of the food as you contemplate everything that’s happened. Your relationship with him used to be so simple, just a girl trying to help a patient by being his friend, but now, you second guess everything he does, suspecting a debauched ulterior motive in all of his affections. The mental gymnastics are exhausting, and while part of you wants to just give up and take his advances at face value, you know you’ll succumb to his importuning eventually if you allow yourself to soften. Your survival instincts still burn brightly, fueling a flame of hope that you’ll be able to escape one day if you keep him satisfied, so you begrudgingly accept his touches and gifts, complying but never reciprocating.

 

The one thing you haven’t allowed him is to get in your pants, and you plan to keep it that way until you’re able break out. To your relief, he’s respected your boundaries thus far, but your unwillingness hasn’t deterred him from trying. It happens nearly every night, hot breath tickling your scalp as large hands creep up your waist, forcing you to grasp his wrist and mumble some sort of excuse. His unabating attempts at bedding you are exasperating, but you’re thankful he stops when you tell him to. A wry, bitter smile tugs at your lips, resentful of your fate when you admit to yourself that, under other circumstances, the thought of having sex with Michael would thrill you.

 

Anyone with sight could tell you that he’s attractive. Built like a statue, his strong, humongous frame is betrayed by a boyishly handsome face with sandy, wavelike hair reminiscent of 70s heartthrobs, but the kidnapping and murderous tendencies smother any budding desires you could possibly feel.

 

As you’re setting up two plates, you hear the water switch off, an incessant meowing following you as you stroll towards the table. After setting the dishes down, you laugh softly as Honey circles your feet impatiently, grousing with increasing volume about her empty bowl. Quickly, you walk back into the kitchen and give her more food, stroking her back a few times before heading towards the living room.

 

You stiffen when you see Michael seated at the table, his impassive gaze fixed on you as he waits for you come closer. Only pausing for a moment, you noiselessly continue walking and sit across from him, promptly beginning to eat. He stares at you for a few seconds before joining, and you finish your meals without a word. These moments used to feel impossibly awkward, tension so thick you felt like you were suffocating, but you’ve gotten used to the silence, and now it almost feels… comfortable. Blanching, you briskly push the thought away, reminding yourself not to lose sight of the situation. You may be easily swayed towards tenderness, but you’re _not_ going to let Michael wear you down.

 

As you move to put your plate in the sink, he suddenly reaches out and grasps your hand, stopping you mid-stand. When you turn to him, he’s earnestly looking at you with a nameless emotion, eroding your conviction with the muted blush dusting his cheeks. Captivated by his dark gaze, you’re still, breathing deeper when he begins caressing your thumb with his own. Time flows like molasses, and it feels like an hour has passed when you finally tear your focus away, worrying your lip as you take your dish to the kitchen. _This is bad. Really bad._ Your rational brain is screaming at you, memories of murder and violence baring fangs at the long-standing fondness swelling in your chest, but in spite of everything, you can’t shake your endearment. It’s a constant battle between resentment and affection, but you feel your anger weather with each passing night, weakened by Michael’s devotion and curious charms, and it makes you incredibly anxious. You’ve lost so much control because of him, but one thing you thought you’d never lose power over is your emotions. It keeps the flicker of hope alive, knowing he can force you physically, but he can’t force his way into your heart. Standing your ground gets harder every single day, however, with no escape in sight and Michael constantly chipping at the hard feelings.

 

Tired of thinking so much, you hurry through the living room so you can get ready for bed, training your eyes on the ground to avoid anymore incidents. You can navigate your confusing feelings later. For now, the softness of your blankets is calling to you, and you’re more than happy to oblige.

 

✼⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊱•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅✼

 

You’re pulled abruptly from your slumber by a snug heat embracing your body, and the subsequent sweat drenching the sheets around you. Wiping the droplets from your forehead, you gingerly sit up, blinking the sleep from your eyes as the room comes into focus. It’s just begun to lighten outside, and when you turn, you find Michael gone, Honey curled up in his place. You don’t even have time to register that oddity before an achy fluttering in your underwear swallows all thoughts, your cheeks flaming as you groan. _Oh, God. I must have had a wet dream._ It’s been impossible to relax enough for you to feel comfortable partaking in some self love, and even if you could, Michael hardly gives you enough time alone to even try. So, needless to say, you’re a bit strung up sexually.

 

Lying back down, you roll to your side and close your eyes, figuring you can sleep off your arousal and continue your day normally once you wake up. But the need gnawing at your belly keeps you wide awake, body flushing and fanning the warmth that’s making your clothes uncomfortably sticky. Relinquishing, you peel your shirt off, sighing in relief when the cool air soothes your burning skin. When you grasp the hem of your shorts, you feel the flimsy edge of your panties, causing you to hesitate. Chewing your lip, you debate whether to take care of the problem or just hope it goes away eventually. Anxiety flitters in your chest, the thought of getting caught mortifying you, but the growing want clouding your mind makes it increasingly complaisant. _Michael doesn’t usually leave in the morning… But every time he leaves, he’s gone for at least an hour. So… I should be okay…!_

 

Slowly, you push your bottoms down your legs, gasping lightly when a trail of clear slick catches your eye. _That’s why I’m so horny!_ You don’t normally pay attention to your cycle when you’re off your period, but the sticky substance saturating your underwear is all too familiar, memories of many restless nights spent twisting in your bed sheets flashing through your mind. Sighing in defeat, you realize you won’t be able to will this one away and chuck your clothing to the side.

 

Heat radiates from you, your glowing skin eased by the cold winter draft sneaking through tiny cracks in the wall, but this provides little comfort as a much deeper throb captures your attention. You snake one hand down your torso while wrapping the other around your breast, moaning quietly when your touch sends electric tingles down your spine. Squeezing delicately, you rub circles around your nipple, belly fluttering in anticipation as your hand creeps closer to your mound.

 

When your fingers meet the dewy flesh, your head lolls to the side, exhaling happily as you massage your slit. Your ministrations help relieve the feverish need clenching your belly, but it's not nearly enough, so you poke two fingertips at your entrance, alleviating the twinge of pain when you push them in by ardently petting your clit. With a hushed whimper, you pinch your nipple at the same time as you curl your fingers, brushing a rough patch of nerves deep inside you that shoots sparks of pleasure through your body. You throw your head back, breaths quickening into heated puffs as you move your fingers in and out, stretching your walls enough to add a third. Moving your hand to grasp the other breast, you jam your fingers in with more fervor, trying desperately to hit that magical spot, but you only manage to skim it each time. It sends shivers along your clammy skin, pleasure buzzing around your lower lips, but it's never enough to send you over the edge, frustrated tears welling on your waterline as it teases you. The knot in your abdomen continues to tighten, your fingers working the silky inner walls of your sex as you arch your back impatiently, perspiration cascading down while you frantically chase your orgasm.

 

Letting your legs fall wider, you lift your head and move to sit up so you can reach deeper into yourself, but you jump when you see Michael standing in the door frame, yelping as you scramble to cover yourself.

 

_Oh sweet Jesus Christ._

 

Both of you are completely still, cold horror flooding over you as you stare shocked, mouth gaping and eyes as wide as a deer in headlights. Michael is clad in only a towel, and you briefly register the implications of what he was doing while he was out before your focus is stolen by the water dripping from his dusty hair, now flattened by moisture, and onto his chiseled torso, drawing tantalizing trails down to the edge of the towel. The air is dense and charged with tension, but you feel it melt and tickle your skin with heat as you notice a large tent in his cover, subconsciously licking your lips when your sex clenches at the thought of having something bigger than your fingers. _Much_ bigger, from the looks of it.

 

_This is so stupid. This is the worst idea I’ve ever had._

 

But as you watch his chest heave, muscles taut and dark eyes blown wide, you discover that you couldn’t care less. Your mind is hazy with lust, wanton and begging for anything that could help push you over the edge, and this gorgeous man seems to have just the trick.

 

Worrying your swollen lower lip, you relax your legs a bit and reach out to him with grabby hands. To your delight, he springs into action immediately, shirking the towel and surging forward. In mere moments, he’s on top of you, gigantic frame dwarfing your own as he grips your knees and forces them apart. Firmly rubbing your thighs, he leans his face towards yours and pauses, breath tickling you as he gazes steadily into your eyes. You feel his body heat mingle with your own, your cheeks burning as you observe the black pools eclipsing his dark brown irises. Finally, he tilts his head and moves in, your eyes flicking to his lips before he gently presses them against your own. It’s tentative and almost unsure, but he probably hasn’t kissed anyone before, so you take it in stride and lean into him, tangling a hand in his damp locks while the other rests against his chest. This seems to spur him on, a large hand splaying across your side before sliding up to grasp your breast. You gasp at the feeling, and he takes this opportunity to lick inside your mouth, tongue clumsily hitting your own a few times before adopting a rhythm.

 

As you kiss, he rolls your breast in his hand, snaking the other down your body before finding your glossy mound, stroking it experimentally and covering his fingers in slick. Pulling from your lips with a pop, he inspects your face, undoubtedly red and shiny with sweat, before moving to your neck, peppering wet kisses across your skin before nipping at you, fingers dipping further into your labia as he searches for your entrance. You moan at the dull buds of pain blooming on your neck, hand curling in his hair, and he soothes the little marks with open mouthed kisses before biting you harder. Nails scratching at his chest, your shoulders stiffen at the feeling of his teeth clamped around your neck, the powerlessness of your position sending bolts of pleasure to your sex, fueling the fiery knot coiling in your belly. His hand finds your entrance as he continues down your body, stippling your skin with kisses and bites while he steadily pushes a finger into you. Groaning, you wiggle your hips towards him, enjoying the tingles of pleasure he’s giving you but greatly needing more. You feel more than hear his quiet, breathy chuckle before he adds another finger, stretching you deliciously as he explores your velvety cavern.

 

Toes curling, your head falls to the side while you watch him lavish your body with attention, giving a particularly hard bite to your belly before stopping directly in front of your sex. Embarrassment smolders your cheeks as he inspects you, but you don’t have to suffer long before he licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, fingers hitting the cluster of nerves deep inside you. Scrunching your eyes, your back bows at the pleasure that pulses between your legs, unable to hold back a whimper as your breaths quicken.

 

“Michael… Please…”

 

He must take note of your reaction, because he flattens his tongue against your clit, pressing firmly as he draws circles against the tumid bud. Warmth prickles your skin, heady tingles bubbling through your body at the pleasure wracking your lower lips, inner walls quivering around Michael’s fingers as they continuously curl into your g-spot. You feel airy pleasure tickle your fingertips and toes before slowly trickling through your body, the cord deep in your hips curling impossibly tight as you moan louder. Your mind begins to blank, fingers tensely gripping his hair as your breaths are reduced to frenetic gasps, silently chanting his name like a desperate prayer at the growing bliss rushing through your sex. Heated with anticipation, you throw your head to the side as it becomes too much, the pressure against your clit and inner walls nearly propelling you to climax-

 

Michael abruptly pulls away, fingers slipping out of you as he slides back up your frame. Whining noisily, you’re completely disconsolate as the pleasure withers away, the heat and want afflicting your body only swelling at the loss. You barely have time to glare before you’re flipped over, chest hitting the bed with a quiet huff of surprise. Strong hands grasp your thighs, pushing them forward until your ass is in the air, your legs too weak to resist his manhandling. Even if they weren’t, you doubt you’d protest, the control of Michael’s strength sending a jolt to your core.

 

Shivering, you shift your head to rest against a pillow, feeling his hard torso brush your back when he bends over you, caging your smaller frame between his arms. Hot breath fans across your hair, chest hitching when you feel the tip of his length prodding your entrance. Spreading your legs further with his knees, he presses into you slowly, the intrusion burning slightly as your sex opens to accommodate him. After he bottoms out, he gives you time to adjust, one of his hands rubbing up and down your body before fondling one of your breasts. He’s just as big as he looks, so you breathe deeply as your walls acclimate to the stretch, your hips feeling exceptionally full. When the pain has mostly subsided, you squirm lightly, the need simmering in your belly far outweighing any discomfort.

 

Without hesitation, Michael pulls his hips back, leaving just the tip inside before pushing back in, soft moans tumbling from your lips as he gradually picks up speed. He fills you so well, your walls fluttering around his thick length while he continuously stuffs you, stretching you so much that you think you might tear. The thought forces a shameless cry from your diaphragm, muscles clenching as he fucks into you, burying your face into the crook of your arm out of embarrassment. He isn’t having it, though, because he clutches your hips and angles them just so, allowing him to reach even deeper and jab your g-spot with every thrust. You sob when humming pleasure surges through your sex, thighs trembling as Michael holds you flush against him, grip unrelenting despite your writhing.

 

That familiar knot begins to build in your abdomen once more, galvanized by your lover’s ceaseless abuse of the patch of nerves buried within your hips. Your mouth hangs open as you rock against the bed, his dick ramming so deep inside you that it feels like he’ll breach your cervix. Grunting against your ear, Michael keeps a steadfast grasp on your hip with one hand while he slips the other to your mound, beginning to rub your clit in earnest. Moaning loudly, pleasure prickles your skin and makes you feel febrile, your mind succumbing to the blissfully empty space that lets you know you’re close. Drool leaks from your mouth, toes curling as your body becomes as light as a feather, the last flames of pleasure shooting through your limbs before the cord in your belly snaps, white hot ecstasy bursting in your sex. Your eyes squeeze shut, body going rigid as Michael fucks you through your orgasm, muscles buzzing as you come down from your incredible high.

 

Instead of slowing down, Michael shoves into you harder, frenziedly chasing his own release as you cry out from oversensitivity. Inner walls spasming, you weakly try to wriggle out of his hold, tears flooding your eyes as the pleasure becomes painfully intense, but to your dismay he clenches you tighter. When his chest heaves heavily against your back, he starts moving your hips in time with his pistoning, impaling you on his length as you tremble hard, unable to do anything but take it. With a few more thrusts, he stiffens, growling deep in his throat as he grinds against your ass, and your breath hitches when you feel his hot come filling your sex. He stays like that for a moment, dick twitching as he empties himself inside you, holding your hips to his with an iron grip.

 

Eventually, he releases you, and your legs immediately give out, collapsing on the bed with a gentle bounce. Exhaustion seeps through your bones, your eyes flickering closed as you sigh contentedly. Michael lies next to you, settling into a blanket before pulling you close, gingerly moving the covers over you before wrapping an arm around your waist. The come dribbling from your entrance feels a little gross, but you can’t bring yourself to care as sleep creeps through your consciousness, strengthened by the surrounding warmth and sated heaviness of your body. You vaguely register careful fingers pushing Michael’s seed back into you before falling into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeeeep! i really, really hope this is okay!! i'm so sorry for the delay, i just struggled so much with this chapter! writing action comes much easier to me than writing introspection, and i've never written smut before! but i forced myself to face it head on, and i seriously hope it was worth the wait!! :^3 i can't thank you guys enough for sticking with me through this hot mess, and for being so incredibly kind to me!!! i appreciate all the kudos and (especially) comments so much, it literally means the whole wide world to me that people enjoy my scribbles!! thank you so very much for your amazing kindness and super sweet words, i'm so glad i decided to write this little ditty <3 <3 <3


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